eMerge Magazine - Fall 2022

There Is a Door by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg
“At the end of my suffering, there was a door.” ~ Louise Gluck Always. Across the once-green expanse hilling the horizon edged with cedars leaning into each other in the sun right before the wind returns to clear us of all this humidity, the righteous angst of being human, which is not to say it was easy: we were lost here, like hurricanes stationed in place against their will to dissolve into oceans. We were afraid often of it never ending, pain so fluent in speaking the language of forever

Fall 2022Issue 16: Fall 2022

Tides for Sale by Violet Treadwell Hull
Static time Big old stupid city On the embankment of rug and tassel What could lap At a shore this old But pruned and petted candies Strings of sponge From tops of heads A boat rocks aside: a hand meets charge: a tide shifts: a mountain learns a new name Water doesn’t need to set aside time To say yes It laps it over and over again with nothing to count An ancient time can now be pixels But don’t forget to bring your enchanted gloves The water hurts but it must be bottled In line for s

Counting Trees by Sonya Vann DeLoach
The air is different here. My block in Royal Oak Township on Detroit’s border has become relatively bereft of trees. My block in Ann Arbor, Michigan, a mere forty-five minute drive away, is lousy with them. My husband Shawn cut down a healthy, old growth maple so he could better sun himself on the back deck. I still mourn the tree four years later. I can see ten mature trees through the narrow view from the windows of my office. Littleleaf Linden, Red Sunset Maple and Emerald Green Arborvitae tr

You Can Change Your Life in Arkansas by Ken Waldman
Especially if you fly on Christmas, the hours in the air a meditation upon the months and year. You think salvation might be yours if only you shake your fist at some old slight, look ahead to this in-between state, a place of transition between east, west, north, south. It’s like fiction, you think, these strange and busy weeks. Success seems elusive. Yet isn’t it success to think freely, as you’re doing now, high above clouds, imagining how your art will sustain you. Colorado, Texas, Arkansas.

There Is a Door by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg
“At the end of my suffering, there was a door.” ~ Louise Gluck Always. Across the once-green expanse hilling the horizon edged with cedars leaning into each other in the sun right before the wind returns to clear us of all this humidity, the righteous angst of being human, which is not to say it was easy: we were lost here, like hurricanes stationed in place against their will to dissolve into oceans. We were afraid often of it never ending, pain so fluent in speaking the language of forever

Tides for Sale by Violet Treadwell Hull
Static time Big old stupid city On the embankment of rug and tassel What could lap At a shore this old But pruned and petted candies Strings of sponge From tops of heads A boat rocks aside: a hand meets charge: a tide shifts: a mountain learns a new name Water doesn’t need to set aside time To say yes It laps it over and over again with nothing to count An ancient time can now be pixels But don’t forget to bring your enchanted gloves The water hurts but it must be bottled In line for s

Counting Trees by Sonya Vann DeLoach
The air is different here. My block in Royal Oak Township on Detroit’s border has become relatively bereft of trees. My block in Ann Arbor, Michigan, a mere forty-five minute drive away, is lousy with them. My husband Shawn cut down a healthy, old growth maple so he could better sun himself on the back deck. I still mourn the tree four years later. I can see ten mature trees through the narrow view from the windows of my office. Littleleaf Linden, Red Sunset Maple and Emerald Green Arborvitae tr

You Can Change Your Life in Arkansas by Ken Waldman
Especially if you fly on Christmas, the hours in the air a meditation upon the months and year. You think salvation might be yours if only you shake your fist at some old slight, look ahead to this in-between state, a place of transition between east, west, north, south. It’s like fiction, you think, these strange and busy weeks. Success seems elusive. Yet isn’t it success to think freely, as you’re doing now, high above clouds, imagining how your art will sustain you. Colorado, Texas, Arkansas.

There Is a Door by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg
“At the end of my suffering, there was a door.” ~ Louise Gluck Always. Across the once-green expanse hilling the horizon edged with cedars leaning into each other in the sun right before the wind returns to clear us of all this humidity, the righteous angst of being human, which is not to say it was easy: we were lost here, like hurricanes stationed in place against their will to dissolve into oceans. We were afraid often of it never ending, pain so fluent in speaking the language of forever

Domesticity like The Cubs

Circles

Postpartum

Apple Bundt Cake

Matron

Lipstick

Whiskey

Carving

Nothing

Perfumed Estrangement

The Advent of Feeding

Love Rocks

Where the Cicadas Sing

Chicken-Vegetable Noodle Soup

Language

Untitled

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